A Kreature of Change

Whilst staring into the red face of an offended Danish man today, I had an epiphany about my life. I lack the one thing that has been mankind's key to survival: adaptability. The portion of my brain that stores the information of "life lessons/past situations that you should have learned something from to better handle future situations" must have been rendered useless in one of my plethora of concussions. Here are a few key evidences to support this argument.

1. The first week of my freshman year, I had a class in the MARB. The MARB is a ridiculously structured building with its identical classrooms and wretched architecture that reeks of the 1970's. Despite its confusing structure, all of my classmates seem to have figured out how to not get lost in it. I have had a class all but one of my semesters at BYU in the MARB and I continue to end up in the wrong classroom (or on a completely different floor full of eerie fish and disturbing biology professors who smell of dead animals) if I do not walk in the same door on my way to class.

2. My entire family talks about 10 decibels louder than the average human being. Genetic research is being conducted to determine if this is attributed to the fact that some of us (my dad) are deaf or we simply lack a "normal" speaking voice gene. Speaking too loudly coupled with my tendency to talk about things I probably shouldn't has resulted in disastrous situations time after time. The intelligent person would have learned their lesson by at least the third mishap, but I am still going strong after my 701st entanglement. While talking loudly about a dramatic human being who I maybe don't like that much, a frightening Danish man sitting next to me and my poor cousin chimed in with "(Danish accent) Sorry to butt in, but are you talking about (insert person I was complaining about)?" Horrified silence filled promptly with cousin's remarks about how much he adores said person. The angry Danish man's face was a sickly red at this point and was making me feel quite pleased with myself as he continued to stare at me with unblinking eyes of pure hatred. I tried to smooth over my situation by talking as quickly as possible about worlds most random things in hopes he would forget how I just bashed on one of his life long role models. I am pretty sure he would have punched me in the face had my glorious cousin not come to my rescue by stating we had to leave that very instant.

3. Some people outgrow childhood loves, some don't. This concept is not that peculiar nor is loving Harry Potter so much you create an alternate character of yourself in every single book. Lots of people love Harry Potter. There is even a new theme park in Disney World to commemorate this revolutionary series of geniusdom. J.K. Rowling has more money than the queen of England because so many people love Harry Potter. Everyone should love Harry Potter as much as I do or at least as much as the world in general does. I feel as if I am talking to a martian when they tell me they A. haven't read all the books (or, horror or all horrors, none of them) B. Have only seen a movie or two C. Didn't cry on their 11th (possibly 12th and 13th and so forth) birthday when they didn't get an acceptance letter via owl to Hogwarts. I got to express my ardent love for Harry Potter this week at the midnight showing of Deathly Hallows with my fantastic Harry Potter loving ward. Every one of us dressed up. My favorites were: Dumbledore, the bust of Rowena Ravenclaw, Voldemort, a 6-year-old house elf, Hagrid, Gildroy Lockhart, Molly Weasley, a Nimbus 2000, Ollivander, Rita Skeeter, and the Grey Lady. Right before the heading to the show, I remembered back to the time my mom signed me up for a Harry Potter night at the library. The flier for the event advertised: quidditch, potion lessons, charm classes (with a wand fitting), and a night of magical fun. When my mom hugged me goodbye, I hugged her back extra hard. My 12-year-old self knew this would be the last time I would see my muggle mother for at least a year as per the West Jordan library was the American platform to Hogwarts. When she said, "Be out here at 8:00PM so I can pick you up". I knew her full statement was actually , "Be out here at 8:00 PM so I can pick you up after your year at Hogwarts" but as per she and I both knew what she meant, it wasn't necessary to add those last six words. Guess what? The library gig was a total hoax. Quidditch was using brooms to play indoor broom hockey. Potions was watching dry ice bubble out of a lame plastic cauldron. Charms was eating a handful of peculiarly shaped marshmallow cereal. I attempted to pick up every book in the library convinced one of them HAD to be a portkey. Ever since the unspeakably disappointing library incident, I have been wary of any Harry Potter events that promise magic. Even so, as my now twenty-year-old self dressed up as Bellatrix Lestrange this week, I literally had the thought "Maybe the movie theater will have a piece of popcorn that is actually a portkey to Hogwarts!!!"
I guess some things about me will never change: my lack of directional skills, talking too loud, talking about things I shouldn't, lacking all forms of tactfulness, my desire to be buried with the elder wand when I die, my certainty that Hogwarts is actually a graduate school, and my general inability to change above personality traits ;) P.S. If any ridiculously muscled, martial arts master wants to be my body guard against "Angry Danish Man" and the many other people I am still likely to offend, please send me: a recent photograph, a recording of your intimidating voice, your percent muscle mass, the record of your (at least 8 years) of defensive training and your favorite dessert recipe that I will force my roommates to bake for you when you want to be compensated for your protection services. Thank you in advance for your speedy responses!

Just Say No to Sugar

Just to let you know, it is 2:30AM. Ask me if I have a class in roughly five hours? Now ask me if I think I will even remotely make it on time? Final question, do I have a very unhealthy relationship with food that fully expressed itself this weekend as it does in many weekend instances?
So this weekend I got to venture up to Logan with (let's call him Scottish Eyebrowed Lad or Sel for short) to visit my lovely cousin. My cousin, for all who don't know, is one of the world's top ten coolest people. If you don't believe me, google top ten coolest people and you will see her pretty lil self right next to Aragorn, Dumbledore, and Billy Joel (if you haven't discovered how fantastical my pal BJ is, you need to download all of his songs immediately to your ipod). Moving on. I am a strong believer in the concept that one gets to chose how awkward they feel. Certain degrees of awkwardness, however, can stem from being caught of guard without a logical way to navigate a new turn in a situation. One such instance occurred while Sel and cousin were eating dinner at Logan's fine food establishment, Juniper. As per Logan is a college town and Juniper has some of the tastiest food for students to partake of, a large contingency of Aggies (I finally learned what this stands for. Agriculturalists= Aggies. Almost as lame as my high school mascot except for they don't wear brown and yellow skirts) are bound to gather here on any given night in honor of delectable food. A boy my cousin had done the awkward date tango with came in to Juniper. Just as cousin was launching into describing the awkwardness involved with this boy, Sel goes "I know him". As we began laughing at his jokester self, Sel got up to embrace the fellow. Mild awkwardness escalated to unnavigable awkwardness. How could one expect cousin to react to such a shock that such a social tie could possibly be made between these two? Answer: She couldn't have.
The second part of Friday evening consisted of going to the Logan temple for baptisms. What more could I say than it was beautiful and the temple is literally one of the best places on earth? Also, Logan temple goers are spoiled because shampoo and conditioner are provided for your ten minute, worry free shower after you get out of the font.
Saturday was a fun, cookie filled blast. After babysitting for my other cousin awhile back, it was revealed unto Sel and I about a hidden magical world in Logan called Pepperidge Farm. In this magical place, you can buy 3 pound bags of milano cookies for $3. Since Tim Tams have recently redefined to me what it means to live, I knew I must visit this magical land that birthed my revolutionary discovery. I think I ate every single sample cookie and goldfish displayed on that glowing table of yore where King Cookie once sat with a few shiny friends of his. Now this might not have been such a terrible of thing had I not then gone on to buy a whole package of Tim Tams, had pounded some Fro-Yo the night before, preceded to eat far too many handfuls of Jalapeno Kettle chips at the rugby game, ate a giant lunch followed by a cheesecake contraption at a beautiful bridal shower, ate the chocolate party favor on the car ride home, sampled some more of the Pepperidge Farm magic, and then spent Sunday eating astronomically large amounts of chili at the chili cook off (my roommates took second by the way), and more sugary goodness at munch and mingle. I attribute my current state of death like longings for sleep to my poorly made food choices in the past 72 hours. Let my Lauren go (if you know where this line comes from, you have just inched your way onto Google's waiting list for top ten coolest people)
Yes! Mission successful. I am now entering the glorious field of exhaustion. Moral of this story and any other really: If you think it is a good idea to spend a whole weekend pumping your body with pure sugar, you will spend the rest of the weekend, week, month, eternity wishing you were a smarter person. Just say no to sugar! Smokey the Bear endorses this cautionary message :)

The Fountain of Miracles

This week has been a wonderful oddity in my life. The fountain of miracles started trickling into my life on Tuesday when I managed my time wisely (shocker, I know) and accomplished everything I put on my to-do list in my ever neat handwriting. Wednesday is where the fountain started spurting at an alarming rate into my life. If you have ever met me (mom and dad, my most avid readers), I cannot handle blood. Wait, lies. I cannot handle my own blood coming out of my body. While seeing others blood is far from enjoyable, it certainly isn't the nausea provoking, vagal overloading experience watching my own seep from my body is. We had a hematology physiology lab on Wednesday and I had been dreading it for three dreary days leading up to it. I quite logically deduced in the three days leading up to it that the small finger prick required of me would go terribly wrong. The lancet would undoubtedly rip through my entire finger causing all of the nasty metallic smelling life force in my body to pour out within two minutes. The front page of the Daily Universe would have my ID picture splashed across it with a beautifully tragic article on my untimely death. The headline would read in bold letters"BYU Student Dies Heroically in the Name of Hematology". A quote from one of my roommates would be like this "Lauren was one of the bravest, most self-sacrificing people in the world. She knew going into that evil lab she might not be coming out of it-but she went in anyanyany waay" (quote ends because my roommate is sobbing to hard to go on). When I finally entered the lab, the mildly brave being lurking behind my normal pansy self emerged. As soon as my lab partners asked who was to donate their body to science, it was I who volunteered. It is now two days later and all of the flesh on my finger is intact and at least 5 liters of blood is floating around in my body. Today, the miracles of all miracles occurred. To fully understand this miracle, one needs to know a very simple and true fact about my life. I hate chemistry and it hates me. There have been points in our relationship where we have tolerated one another. In the early parts of our relationship, we even viewed each other with tiny hints of passionate interest. These brief instances of interest, however, quickly dissolved into a solution of pure hatred. My chemistry lab this semester has helped me imagine a bit of what Dante envisioned the 7 circle of hell to be like. Of the 8 labs we have had, I have had to re-do every. single.one. Most Thursdays have involved me calling my parents shortly after the lab, sobbing to them about my failures and the injustice of Chem 107, throwing myself on the floor of our living room until one of my roommates offered to comfort me with food all the while telling me my lab grade didn't define my high intellectual ability, asking if people would still love me even if I failed stupid chem lab, and then going to bed resolved to get an A on the next lab. Today (mark this date on your calendar of historical events) was the first day I EVER got an A on a test in chemistry ( I have taken now three semesters of this blasted subject). I got 100% on my practicum. When the previously demonic TA said the words" Wow, good job. You got 100" I literally started jumping up and down, spinning in circles and telling anyone I had ever said "excuse me" to in the lab "I GOT 100. A.100 percent. AAAAA". (Side note: this overshadowed the moment that occurred two hours previous when demonic TA woman told I had failed number 8 lab because I hadn't put the dumb, stupid, ridiculous, ugly, (insert all other negative terms) sticker on my report and would now have to redo it. I burst into tears whilst wearing my lab goggles while she awkwardly stood there trying to locate where her heart had disappeared to years ago). I think I will just keeping doing laps in this fine little fountain of mine until a drought tries to dry up my happiness (which it won't because I have an eternal fountain of miracles :)

A Talent to Brag About

You know when you get those annoying "Get To Know You" forms and they ask you what your talents are. I usually list the fifty or so I generally excel at: eating, sleeping in class, knowing random facts about the universe that take the place of knowing useful facts for acing classes that will help me take over the universe, procrastinating, etc. This final talent, procrastinating, has taken me years to develop. In my younger years, I never would have listed it as a talent-more as a random hobby I sometimes played around with whenever my mom reminded me to clean my room. In high school, I thought it wise to excel at other things and so I procrastinated developing my procrastination skills (whoa, bet that thought just blew your mind ;) My first year in college was one that finally allowed true opportunity to develop my hidden talent. I didn't realize my hidden talent until finals week of my freshman year. It was a beautiful experience. I had thought until that point I didn't have any particular talent I excelled at-I was mostly just mediocre at a handful of things. My realization occurred when I procrastinated studying for finals by watching five movies and an entire disk of episodes of the X-Men animated series. Once I got my grades back for that semester, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was a Class A procrastinator. Developing such a talent really does take a lot of time and effort. If you are reading this and wishing you could be a Class A procrastinator, just know it isn't the easiest of paths to follow. Most Class A procrastinators have to posses a certain degree of talent initially before they can truly begin to excel. Discovering I had this genius ability was a bit overwhelming. Was it possible for a human being to be so astoundingly good at such a thing? I kept my talent partially hidden throughout my freshman year for fear people would view me as some freaky procrastinating genius they simply couldn't relate to. This semester, however, I have decided to let my talent really shine. Why should I hide something I am so miraculously good at? I should share my talent with the world! I now stare at the odd water marks in my apartment for hours wondering what it would be like to ride atop a elephant in Indonesia instead of doing my physics homework. Instead of studying for my music civilization class, I practice speaking in different accents and coming up with ridiculous (though extremely true) stories of how Isaac Newton was in love with a musically gifted nun. Instead of grading endless papers, I decide to eat all of my roommates food. When I should be running off all of the food I keep ingesting, I decide to let facebook continue to steal a part of my soul. Instead of studying for the dumbest class ever invented by worlds most evil creatures, I decide to write on my blog. See! I have made some truly impressive strides to claiming procrastination as a full fledged talent. I can put it on resumes, OT applications, "Get to Know You" forms, you name it! My heart is full with the final acceptance that I do have a valid and well developed talent to brag about. In fact, I think I will go try and strengthen my talent a bit more by choosing to take a nap :)